


the backend of forever

by hellevator



Series: all the ways i numb you out [2]
Category: Shameless (TV), Shameless (US)
Genre: Drug Use, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-05
Updated: 2013-05-05
Packaged: 2017-12-10 11:04:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/785339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellevator/pseuds/hellevator
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>there is either no love, or just enough to murder us.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the backend of forever

**Author's Note:**

> just a little something set during ian spending the night in 3x06.

            Everything felt like it had gone through one of those terrible instagram filters - the stupid ones girls on facebook used to make edges blurry and colors pop or to hide the how hideous they were.  Okay, he should have listened to Mickey Milkovich (for the first time in his life) and not done the entire line. He just didn't like how the other boy had said it almost condescendingly, like he thought he couldn't handle it. Well, alright, turns out he couldn't, but still. Now the drip from the crushed up oxycotton was sliding down the back of his throat, into his stomach where it was coating the lining and making him feel uneasy. Ned had given Mickey some painkillers to help ease the soreness from the bullet wounds and of course that meant he had talked Ian into doing something stupid, _again_. The back of his throat was tingling and his skin flushed, all tell-tale signs he was about to throw up. Maybe even force out an organ or two, as violent as it felt. Hopefully it would be one of those useless ones, like an appendix or kidney. As long as it made that sour feeling in his gut go away, he might even be willing to give up a liver.  
  
"I told you not to do the whole thing," Mickey was propped up against the door frame of the bathroom, arms crossed over his chest, shaking his head. Asshole kind of looked like he was enjoying this. Ian wanted to throw something at him but there was nothing within reach. (Except a plunger that he absolutely did not want to touch, ever, fuck _that_ ).  
  
  
"Why did I do it at all?" Ian whined, successfully avoiding the urge to hug the toilet seat in front of him. So there he sat, upper body hovering over the toilet while dry heaves overtook control of his own vocal chords.  
  
"Well, you _were_ doin' it cause the sex is great. Now, looks like you're doing it to puke and pass out." If Mickey could just cut him some slack and stop with the ridiculous arrogant tone, that would be great.  
  
"Whatever, fuck you," he choked out before finally the pizza rolls and beer spilled their way back out of his stomach and into the water, his mouth acidic with the aftertaste. This just solicited another laugh from Mickey and he was sure he would be left alone now to wallow in his misery. Was welcoming of the thought. That's why it was so startling when he felt calloused fingers prodding through the material of his t-shirt, the other boy using his back as leverage to sit down next to him. Ian saw him wince as his wound made contact with the hard floor.  
  
A sheet of toilet paper was ripped from the roll and handed over.. Well, more shoved in his face but the gesture wasn't missed. Ian took it gratefully, wiping the saliva away from his lips. "Idiot," Mickey grumbled out, still sounding like he took pleasure in this a little too much as he picked at a piece of tile that was already chipped at the corner.  
  
"As much as I _appreciate_ your concern and soothing words - I think I can handle this by myself, thanks." Ian really just felt self conscious, though he was too prideful to admit that to himself or to Mickey. But the other boy didn't even seem to care. As he looked around at the abysmal state of the bathroom, it would probably take a little more to gross him out than some vomit. That made him feel better.  
  
"Why you still talkin' to grandpa?" Mickey inquired eventually, clearly ignoring his pleas to go away. That was okay though. Sirens from an ambulance were blasting through the window and Ian wasn't sure he had heard him right.  
  
"What?"  
  
"I mean, after I beat the shit out of him. Why'd you still talk to him?" Milkovich didn't even sound upset, just curious.  
  
"He came into the store, Mickey. I didn't ask him to. What do you care?" Another dry heave.  
  
Mickey had the audacity to shrug nonchalantly, his thumb coming up to wipe at the corner of his mouth. "You still fucking him?" Oh, that's where this was going. While the jealousy looked good on him, Ian was bothered by the way the dark haired boy seemed to be completely oblivious.  
  
"Seriously?" The redhead questioned, irritated. But he was met with a cold stare that forced the truth from his lips. "No. I haven't fu-"  
  
"Just don't anymore, alright?" It was a rhetorical question. More of a demand than anything. Mickey had rushed it out, almost stumbling over the words. Ian was thankful when the pang in his chest took over the ache in his gut for a moment. If he didn't know any better, he was pretty positive Mickey had just made them monogamous.  
  
The corner of the redhead's mouth turned upwards in a smirk, one he was sure Mickey would want to slap off his face if he had the balls to look at him just then. "Okay.. I won't." Not that he was planning on it anyway. Ned's offer to go out for a drink was even only accepted to make him jealous. And it had worked. Particularly well. He probably shouldn't have felt good about playing head games but at this point, anything that made it easier to sleep at night was fair game. It's not like Mickey was offering up reassurances or anything. It was ridiculous they were having this conversation right now, while Ian clung onto the toilet seat, sweat lining his forehead. But it sort of felt more right than anything.  
  
"Good." Ian wanted to ask if that meant Mickey wouldn't sleep around anymore either. It was best not to press. "So, we gonna hang out in here all night? Or are you done being a little bitch."  
  
   
  
 

* * *

  
  
  
  
  
            Less than ten minutes later they were sat on the couch watching another shitty action movie. He felt better all over. His limbs felt heavy but his thoughts were clear. More relaxation, less nausea. That hole that was usually gaping open in his chest, exposing every weak facet of his being if you looked hard enough - it felt full. Hell, it felt nonexistent. He finally understood why it was so hard for people to stop doing this once they had started. Even felt a flickering understanding towards Frank. This was the kind of high lives get destroyed over. Thankfully, Ian decided, he had Mickey around. Because watching him open up right in front of him these past few weeks (hell, these past few years) was decidedly better than anything any drug had to offer. He was more than okay with the angry, violent, self loathing convict next to him being his heroin. The one who had just dropped his hand down from the back of the couch to rest on the base of the redhead's neck. The touch was so foreign it gave Ian chills, goosebumps prickling on his arms.  
  
It was a good thing Mickey had let him borrow his toothbrush (he would just "boil it later", he had said with a shrug as Ian questioned the hygiene concerns) or else he'd be uncomfortable with how close they were sitting. The bitter powder from the oxycotton was still dripping down the back of his throat, much to his surprise. He thought he'd puked it all up. Still, the taste was not fucking pleasant, not in the least. He would wash it down with a beer but he'd already proven alcohol and opiates don't mix. Really this was all just a line of thoughts to get to one end result - convincing himself that kissing Mickey, tasting Mickey, would overpower anything else.  
  
Slowly, he leaned in closer, hand reaching out for the other boy's shoulder. Mickey caught on to what was happening just before their lips touched, narrowly escaping Ian's mouth as he leaned forward, beginning to crush up another pill on the coffee table. The redhead sat back, feeling a bit punctured but it's not like he could say he wasn't expecting that. Though now he wished he wouldn't have brushed his teeth so he could pretend it was his breath making Mickey pull away. The truth hurt more. He was extended a short, almost apologetic glance from Mickey before he leant over more, rolled up dollar bill stuck to his nostril. The way Mickey (and shit, Mandy, too) carelessly obliterated themselves with dope and alcohol was both impressive and worrisome.  
  
After the awkwardness from the almost kiss had subsided, Ian tried to shrug the rejection off and gave Mickey some space. The truly aggravating part is that the boy didn't seem to want it. Kept using any excuse to reach over and poke at Ian jokingly, both of them elbowing each other with smiles on their faces.  
  
"No dumbass, it's not like they'd lock you away in Azkaban for that back in the day-" Mickey had been arguing with Ian over something ridiculous as they shared a smoke. They both had their own packs and no reason for sharing, really.. Ian had convinced himself Mickey just liked their hands being able to brush against one another. Or maybe Ian just liked it. It wasn't important who thought what, as long as it happened.  
  
"Azkaban?" His ears had perked up at the word because if he could think of a thousand words he never thought a Milkovich would say, that sure was up there.  
  
"Yeah. Right? I mean - fuck, no.. Alcatraz. That's it."  
  
"Do you like Harry Potter?"  
  
"Do you like being an obnoxious cunt?" Mickey flipped his middle finger at the redhead before snagging the cigarette out of his mouth, plucking it between his own lips instead with a heavy drag.  
  
"It's okay, Mick, you don't have to be ashamed, every-"  
  
"Shut up," Mickey interrupted like he always did, shoving his palm against Ian's side, shrugging. "I don't like Harry Potter, man. Mandy used to love that shit. I'd read it to her when we were younger, it was the only thing that got her to sleep for a while." The look on Ian's face must've made Mickey defensive. "The hell you look so surprised for? I _can_ read, you know. Jackass." He put the cigarette out in the ashtray in front of him, last bits of smoke blowing from his nostrils. But Ian knew. Knew Mickey was much more clever than he ever let on. Certainly not Lip Gallagher clever, but definitely not dumb.  
  
"I like Harry Potter, too," Ian emphasised the last word, serving in making Mickey grow more restless. He always seemed to start his nervous habits when he was clearly fed up with a conversation, like how he was chewing on the side of his finger and spitting the tiny flakes of skin onto the floor right now. Gallagher was having too much fun in the others expense. It was just payback for earlier.  
  
"You can call me Ron Weasley in bed, if you want, you know, since you've clearly got a thing for gingers.." If it weren't for the fact that Ian had his hand shoved down the front of Mickey's pants, slowly rubbing against him through his boxers with his palm, he was sure he'd be getting decked in the face right now. But Mickey could control his anger when his dick was involved. Lust must be the only thing able to overload a Milkovich into forgetting what they should act like and instead just acting how they wanted to.  
  
The hand that had went back to it's place on Ian's neck was tugging him towards the other's body, crushing their mouths into a kiss. "Shutthefuckup," Mickey breathed out, his voice heavy from the pills as his teeth bit at the redhead's bottom lip. Ian couldn't help but grunt softly, pushing closer. He didn't even care that it had been Mickey's need to stop him from talking anymore that earned him a kiss. That was an angle he had no problem working.  
  
   
  
 

* * *

  
  
  
  
               They had fucked lazily on the couch. Mickey was high enough off of the painkillers that Ian was sure he wouldn't mind being handled a little rougher but honestly, sometimes he enjoyed the slower, less frantic way they could be together. The dark haired boy didn't even protest like he normally did, just tried to swallow down his moans and pushed back against him. And he had been right, the sex was great. Not that it wasn't always great. The high just made him feel every sensation a little bit more yet somehow made him last longer than he normally ever would. When Mickey came, his body shuddered back against his own and he let out a string of curses that would make a sailor blush. He didn't slow down, kept pushing himself back against Ian until he came as well. It sucked the air straight out of his chest, fingernails digging into the dark haired boy's shoulder so desperately they drew blood.  
  
They shared another smoke afterwards, Mickey finishing the last of his beer. It was late and Ian had to open for Linda at the store tomorrow. If the slight headache he already had was any hint at what was coming in the morning, he thought maybe he'd just call in sick. Thought it, yeah, but he knew he wouldn't. Being responsible was some bullshit, that's for sure.  
  
The other boy was already nodding out next to him, head leaned over idly, mouth hanging open some. Ian took the opportunity to drift his head in close, tongue tracing the outline of his friend's ear. Mickey grumbled at the disturbance and tried to push him away. His attempts were half assed and without conviction.  
  
"Bed," Mickey stretched his arms out with a yawn, heaving himself up with one push from the couch. Ian watched as the other shuffled back to his bedroom before he got up and followed shortly behind him. Milkovich had flopped belly down onto one side of his bed, head turned so his cheek pressed against the pillow. Ian started to wonder if Mickey had meant for him to follow at all or if he had expected him to sleep on the couch. At this point, he didn't know which answer sounded more plausible. Mickey had been one huge contradiction after another lately.  
  
There was enough of a buzz still built up in his head to risk it. He laid down next to the other, wrapping one arm around his waist. Still, he kept a comfortable distance between their bodies, or at least as much as he could on the small twin sized bed. He didn't want Mickey to feel like he was being suffocated or super clingy. Baby steps.  
  
Just when he was rethinking doing anything at all, he swore he heard Mickey mumble something out that sounded like "closer," so he did just that and wiggled in, pressing his chest to the boy's back. The other boy relaxed against his grip and it couldn't have been longer than two minutes before the redhead heard soft snores beginning to escape his mouth. He pressed his nose to the back of Mickey's neck, taking the chance to be able to breathe him in without any shame. Customarily he would be made fun of for doing something faggy like that.  Mickey smelled like cigarettes and beer and cheap hair gel and it was better than _anything_.

 

Once again, he was allowing himself to think about this, whatever this was, becoming something real. Something he'd been doing more and more lately, to his own annoyance and chastising. Someday, with their own apartment, somewhere far enough from the southside to not have to worry but close enough to still know what was going on, they could do this all the time. And he could definitely get used to it. Actually what scared him was that he was _already_ used to it. Who knew if Mickey would treat him like a stranger again in the morning? He had a tendency of doing things like that. To make sure Ian knew things weren't as serious as his naive little mind had surely made them out to be. Wasn't not sleeping with anyone else about as serious as it got?  
  
"Hey, Mick," Ian whispered, shoving the older boy slightly until he had woken back up with a grunt and a curse. "Remember when you said that sometimes you want to get out of here, leave Chicago?"  
  
"Fuck off," Mickey mumbled against the pillow, throwing his shoulder back into the other boy's in hopes of quieting him while the chance of falling right back asleep was still in his grasp.  
  
"When you think about it, am I with you?"  
  
"I said fuck _off_ , Gallagher. Go to sleep."  
  
"I need to know," Ian pleaded, sounding less desperate than he thought he would but still pretty damn needy. All he heard in return was a heavy sigh. "Am I?"  
  
"Yeah, _sure_. For like, two seconds. Until I end up curb stomping your face in because I remember how fuckin' annoying you are." Ian couldn't stop the grin stretching across his mouth. He tried to think of how to respond, appearing to constantly search out ways to make himself sound less desperate for Mickey's attention than he truly was. He was cut off before he found his voice.  
  
" _One_ _more god damn word_ , Firecrotch, and you're sleepin' on the porch."

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading :)


End file.
